


The Adventure Of The Fashionable Young Lady

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [13]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assassins & Hitmen, Corruption, Framing Story, London, M/M, Police, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Doctor Watson meets a lady who is rather more than she seems, as Sherlock investigates a curious case where not even money can buy information.





	The Adventure Of The Fashionable Young Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supersockie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersockie/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Inspector Alexander Macdonald - or as a certain muscular person in the vicinity calls him, 'Angus, Prime Scottish Beef'! - had of course approached us both for permission before his inveigling of my brother Sherlock into what would become his first investigation with the indefatigable Watson. After such a start, one might assume that Sherlock would have some more 'normal' cases but in fact their next investigation, which followed close upon their return from the North, was one of the darker ones that they faced together. And it would show that quite literally no-one is above the law.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

The word that sprang to mind when I saw the flame-haired young lady sat in the fireside chair of Holmes' room was 'pristine'. It was almost as if she had walked straight out of some advertisement for ladies' apparel. Then I remembered Inspector Macdonald, who had turned out to be rather more than the plain London policeman he had first appeared to be.

“Miss Day”, Holmes smiled. “You are most welcome. I take it that Miss Richards is well?”

The young lady smiled.

“My employer is most well, Mr. Holmes”, she said, looking curiously across at me. “This must be Doctor Watson.”

I was a little surprised that she knew of me. She clearly caught my reaction.

“Your name is John Hamish Watson”, she said. “Your father was from Belford in Northumberland and your mother from Jedburgh in Roxburghshire; you have one elder brother and two younger sisters, the latter both married. You worked for six years at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, then upon attaining your degree at Netley immediately went to India. You were severely wounded at the Battle of Maiwand, our Empire's ill-judged venture into the mess that is the Afghan lands, and subsequently suffered from enteric fever which led to your honourable discharge and return home.”

I was doing a passable impression of a fish out of water.

“Miss Day's estimable employer Miss Richards is arguably the greatest source of information in the metropolis”, Holmes said, smiling at my shocked reaction. “What little that she does not know is not worth knowing.”

“Which is why I have been sent to you today, Mr. Holmes”, our visitor said. “We have recently become aware of a new gang of criminals, by name the Baldwin Brothers, whose activities are quite worrisome.”

Holmes looked at her shrewdly. She smiled at him.

“Yes, there is more to it”, she said. “Normally we would be able to know everything about the people in this organization in a matter of hours, days at the most. But our usually efficient sources have yielded nothing, which is as I said quite worrisome.”

I felt instinctively that there was something more to what she was saying, though I had no idea as to what. Holmes looked thoughtfully at her, then nodded.

“I shall be delighted to apply my small talents to investigating this matter”, he said.

“We hoped that you would”, our visitor said. She took some folded papers out of her reticule and placed them on the table. “This is all we have on them, I am afraid. The centre of our concern is the murder of a young beggar called Alfred Eddington last week.”

I wondered (but was too polite to ask) why an information organization like the one this lady represented would be interested in such a minor event. This was London after all, and many beggars met a bad end one way or another.

“Your concern is presumably that the death was without a motive?” Holmes asked.

“Indeed”, our visitor said. “Contrary to what many people believe”, (I was sure she looked at me for some reason) “nearly all such killings happen for a reason. When one does not, especially with this new criminal gang on the scene, we are curious as to why.”

“And you believe that it may be related to these Baldwin Brothers?” Holmes asked.

“That is what concerns us”, she said. “We suspect but, most unusually, no-one is talking. And in a city where money will buy almost everything, that suggests that something somewhere is very wrong. I shall wish you Godspeed in your endeavours.”

She nodded to me and left. I stared after her curiously.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I know that many of my readers will claim I say this with the benefit of hindsight, but I had an uneasy feeling about this investigation from the start. That feeling only increased when I returned from my surgery one day to find Holmes looking thoughtful even by his standards. 

“Has something happened?” I ventured.

“I went to see Inspector Macdonald”, he said, frowning at his dinner as if it had displeased him. 

“He could not help?” I asked, cutting up the last sausage on my own plate. He finished his meal before answering.

“I think that he could”, he said darkly, “and yet he could not.”

I stared at him in confusion. He sighed.

“I have had a trying afternoon and am not explaining things well”, he said. “This matter worries me, especially when I found that Inspector Wright was the officer in charge of it.”

The name was familiar from somewhere. I frowned as I tried to place it.

“Mr. Matthew Lafayette Talkland Wright, one of the least effectual members of the Metropolitan Police Service”, he said darkly. “That time you treated the lady who had fallen over in the street outside; he was the one who tried to move you both out of the way for 'obstructing the pavement'. I do not like his involvement in this at all.”

“Why?” I asked.

“The murder did not even take place on his patch”, Sherlock said, “and I have told you how parochial local constabularies are. Also, if one is bringing in someone from an outside area to handle a case it is nearly always a superintendent or higher, not just a mere inspector. My belief is that Macdonald suspects something, but that he is afraid to find out more.”

I tried to picture the huge inspector being afraid. Somehow the image did not quite fit.

“You do not think that he himself is involved?” I asked. Holmes shook his head.

“He is too honest for that”, he said. “But he suspects something, and is wily enough not to ask questions that might confirm those suspicions. We are dealing with something powerful enough to unnerve a man like that, my friend.”

“Is there anything that I can do to help?” I offered. 

I had been sure that he would refuse, but he surprised me.

“I need to look at all coverage of crime stories from the past two months in our stack of _“Times”_ newspapers”, he said. “Will you help?”

“Gladly”, I said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“What do you think?” Holmes asked some hours later. He had refused to tell me exactly what he had been looking for, saying that he wanted my unbiased opinion for what little that was worth. 

“The tone of the paper is definitely more hostile towards the police of late”, I said. “And as regards these Baldwin Brothers they are particularly mocking of the police failure to bring in even a single person associated with them.”

“I am glad that you noticed that”, he said. He looked tired, but pleased at all my work. “I thought the same, but it is so easy to find things when one is looking for them.”

“A pity that the police cannot just place the Baldwins right in front of a large group of armed officers and 'find' them that way”, I said.

He looked at me somewhat strangely.

“Yes”, he said slowly. “But that would be too easy.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Miss Day called round the next day to see how our investigations were progressing.

“Slowly”, Holmes said. “But there is something that your organization could do, or at least employ someone to do, which may help bring the matter to a head.”

“What is that?” the lady asked. She was wearing a frankly stunning red dress today which matched her hair perfectly and must have cost a small fortune.

“I fully expect there to be some sort of happening as regards these Baldwin Brothers”, Holmes said, “although unfortunately I cannot say as to _where_ it will happen. The end result however will be very unpleasant. There will be at least three dead bodies, possibly more.”

I looked at my friend in alarm.

“What do you need us to do?” Miss Day asked. She seemed quite unperturbed by such a statement.

“I need you to have someone monitoring those bodies as soon as they hit the floor”, Holmes said. “I then need to know exactly what happens to them, and who is involved with their removal. I know that it is a lot to ask but we are talking about a new and very dangerous type of criminal here. One which, if it is allowed to breed unchecked, will prove most deadly.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

After the lady had was gone Holmes said that he was going out for the evening, and asked whether I would come with him.

“Of course”, I said. “Where are we going?”

“To see a Mr. Silas Rosenstern.”

I glared at him. He knew full well that the name would mean nothing to me. He chuckled at my displeasure.

“I am sorry, Watson”, he said. “I think that a part of this case will most likely involve the forging of official documents. Mr. Rosenstern is a man of stern moral fibre and would not himself do anything to assist in a crime, but the other two men in the capital capable of his degree of artistry are less scrupulous. Fortunately I was able to do him a small service last year, so hopefully he will feel inclined to consider my request for help.”

“But why would a gang of criminals need official documents?” I asked.

“They would not.”

I glared at him again.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Silas Rosenstern operated out of a small and rather dirty looking curios shop on the edge of the East End. It was not so much run-down as almost run-over in its decrepitude but, I supposed, if the man was the master forger that Holmes proclaimed him to be then why would he need to spend money on a fancy shop-front?

Holmes explained what he was looking for, and the gentleman nodded.

“The obvious question, Mr. Holmes”, he said. “Why should my colleagues _not_ provide documents for people who pay for them? Each man is his own conscience, after all.”

“These documents will be fundamental to a new and very dangerous type of criminal”, Holmes said. “Either Mr. Smith or Mr. Best will be asked to create three or more sets of documents concerning members of the Baldwin Brothers gang.”

“Why would such a request not come to me?” the forger asked.

“Because you, alone amongst the three men capable of this task, always demand original documents before you will create copies”, Holmes said. “It is a wise safeguard against any serious criminal misuse of your talents. In the case of the Baldwin Brothers however no such documents exist.”

“And you think that my friends in 'the business' would tell me of such a request?” the man asked.

“They might”, Holmes said, “once you inform them who is behind the gang. Such people would think nothing of adding one more death 'to prevent anyone talking'. The life of the man who forced their documents would count as nothing to them.”

“Do you know who is in this gang?” Mr. Rosenstern asked.

“The gang itself does not exist”, Holmes said. “It is a chimæra, created solely so its destruction can reflect honour and glory on a police service under constant pressure to achieve 'results'. Unfortunately that will mean that some innocent people have to die so that the fabled Baldwin Brothers gang can be 'seen' to have been defeated. As my brother Mycroft so often says, one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

I stared at him in astonishment.

“All a fake?” I managed at last. He nodded.

“That was why Inspector Macdonald was so unwilling to talk about it”, he told me. “He suspected, but policemen who rock the boat either do not get on or worse, they meet 'unfortunate accidents'. And the inspector has a family to think of, with that young nephew of his who has not long stared out, even if he is away in the provinces. Fortunately the inspector's silence spoke louder than any words; indeed, I rather think that he knew that it would.”

I was still stunned.

“This is a most serious matter”, Mr. Rosenstern said, frowning. “I shall call on my fellow craftsmen first thing tomorrow morning and have an answer for you by the afternoon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Holmes bowed, placed an envelope that I guessed contained some notes on the table, and left. I gathered what was left of my wits and scuttled after him.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes was, unfortunately, proven all too right by the headline in the _“Times”_ the following morning. The four Baldwin Brothers – Alexander, Daniel, Stephen and William – had met in a warehouse to plan their next robbery, but an anonymous tip-off had led police to surround the police. There had been a shoot-out and all four were dead. Two officers had sustained only minor injuries, and the plans had showed that their next target was to be the Middlesex home of the prime minister! 

“I wonder who they really were”, Holmes mused as he read the story himself, munching on his and half of my bacon as per usual. “I doubt that they were attending an unusually-located Sunday School in such a location. Well, I am sure that Mr. Rosenstern will come through for us this afternoon. He has not failed me yet.”

“You did not mention what service you performed for him”, I said, buttering some toast. “Was it a real case?”

“No, an imaginary one”, he said airily. 

I rolled my eyes at him. He smiled at my annoyance.

“His daughter was dating someone who he suspected of being undesirable”, Holmes said. “I was able to prove that he was.”

“Undesirable?” I asked.

“Already married. To three wives. And with children by two of them.”

I choked on my coffee.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The expected telegram arrived just after luncheon and Holmes immediately fired off some of his own. An answer came back mid-afternoon to one of his messages and Holmes once again sent out, telling me that this time he expected someone to call in response to it. I was grateful that I was not needed at the surgery on today of all days and could be there to see justice being done. 

It would be, but not in the way that I had perhaps imagined. Shortly after dinner we heard a heavy tread from the corridor outside, not unlike that of Inspector Macdonald. The door opened to indeed reveal a policeman – but not one I was pleased to see. It was Inspector Wright.

“Be seated”, Holmes said amiably. “Doctor, can you please take the man's coat?”

I would have grumbled about being relegated to a cloak-room attendant, but something in Holmes' tone told me that there was more to his request than that. I hung what was obviously a very expensive coat on the stand and came to join my friend.

“What do you want?” the inspector demanded.

“That sort of tone to stop for one thing”, Holmes said sharply. “You are about to be offered rather more in the way of justice that your foul actions merit, sir. Be seated.”

The inspector scowled,but took a seat.

“Let me start by giving you four names”, Holmes said. “Albert Bass. Philip Jones. Edward Smith. Edmund Smith.”

There was a definite flicker across the inspector's face, although he made a valiant attempt to cover it.

“Should those names mean something to me?” he asked.

“They are the four low-grade criminals whom you and your friends dispatched to the next world recently”, Holmes said. “But not before you had replaced their identities with some of the Mr. Best's most excellent forged papers, and 're-christened' them as members of the Baldwin Brothers gang.”

“I am sure that I do not know what you are talking about”, the man said.

“Then allow me to provide you with four more names”, Holmes said affably. “These, doubtless, will be more familiar to you. Superintendent Lawrence Kintbury. Superintendent David Dumbleton. Chief-Inspector John Robinson. Chief-Inspector Andrew Ames.”

The man had gone pale.

“Is your memory improving, inspector?”, Holmes asked dryly. “Or would you like me to mention the upstairs room at your station where the five of you met to congratulate each other this morning on having killed four relatively innocent men?”

“They were criminals”, he said defensively. “Vermin!”

I was shocked by his attitude.

“They had families”, Holmes said firmly. “Much worse for you, inspector, they had _friends_. The sort of friends who do not take kindly to certain members of the police setting themselves up as judge, jury and executioner. Now listen carefully, because should you fail to do so I will feel not a single pang of conscience when there are further deaths in this matter. Yours will be the first.”

He took a deep breath.

“Today is a Monday. The five of you have until next Monday to leave the country. The precise deadline is mid-day.”

“And if we refuse?” the man asked. Holmes smiled.

“Doctor”, he said far too casually, “kindly bring me the inspector's coat.”

I did as I was asked. Holmes turned the coat around and we could both see that there was a notable red mark in the middle of the back of it. I was more than a little relieved that it was just paint.

“You did not even see the man who placed that there today”, Holmes said. “Thus it will be that, if you are here in a week's time, you will not see the second red mark – except this one will be because you have been shot in the back, as all cowards should be. You were the instigator of this plot and your superiors were mightily pleased at its success. You will of course go and talk to them on leaving here, and each of them will find the same red mark on their own clothing. If there is a killing next Monday it will be you, and there will be one every three days thereafter until your associates are removed one by one, and the Metropolitan Police Service is all the better for it. Do not push the deadline, as it is called that for a good reason. You may now leave.”

The man grabbed his coat and scurried for the door. I wondered if he might show some sense, and take the warning.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

A week later I picked up the _”Times”_ and found that he had not.

“It looks like the good inspector did not take my warning seriously”, Holmes said from where he was sitting down to breakfast. “Mrs. Hudson really has surpassed herself today, Watson.”

“Shot in the back in the middle of Clapham High Street”, I said. “Assassinated in broad daylight!”

“Indeed”, Holmes said, busily helping himself to bacon. “The ever-efficient Miss Day at work.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Miss Day?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly one of the finest assassins in London Town”, he said, pouting sauce all over his food as always. “Are you not hungry?”

I was still trying to reconcile the fashionably dressed young lady with a cold-blooded assassin who could strike without warning, but realized that he was looking hungrily at the remainder of the food on offer. I hurried to the table, wondering as I sat down if the late inspector's friends might be wiser than he himself had been.

Later that same day four top officers resigned from London's constabulary, coincidentally all of them 'for a new life abroad'.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
